


Bask In The Glory Of All Our Problems

by starkind



Series: All The WIPs In One Place [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Bickering, Companionable Snark, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Desert Island Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Sequel, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: “Gotta make sure we don't crash then."Bruce grimaced as he felt the jet buck and shudder under the influence of the raging storm.“I don't know whether to find your optimism aggravating or appealing.”
Relationships: Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne
Series: All The WIPs In One Place [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140476
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Bask In The Glory Of All Our Problems

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the sequel to [Hook, Line, and Sinker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447735), but I don't think it is necessary to read that one beforehand. 
> 
> (let's just say Tony and Bruce have a knack for choosing exceptional vacation spots) 
> 
> Its title is taken from a line of a Julia Michaels song called 'Issues' (2017)

The call came at 5:29 am.

It was 5:31 by the time Bruce managed to fumble for the source of persistent noise and put it to his ear.

“The heck, Tony?”

“Good morning to you, too, Grumpybear. You sound sleepy. Not already CEO'ing I take it?”

Bruce squinted at his too-bright alarm clock on the nightstand.

“It’s barely daytime over here, why are you even up?”

“Haven’t gone to bed, to be honest.”

Bruce flopped onto his back and wiped at his grogginess with his free hand.

“You sound a little manic alright.”

Tony made a chipper sound.

“Part of my charm.”

“Can’t say it’s working on me right now.”

At that, a deep coo came over the line.

“I let that slide knowing fully well you're thinking of me all the time. Admit it. In the shower, early in the morning, like now...”

“Say what?”

“C'mon, just tell me. Tell me you touch yourself thinking about me.”

Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh. “Of course I touch myself when I think about you...” Before Tony got to gloat, Bruce rolled into a seated position with one smooth motion. “... it's called a facepalm.” His deadpan utterance did the trick and made Tony mumble out something rather tactless. “Why you grumpy asshole, and here I came bearing the wonderful gift of brightening your day.”

“By granting me peace and quiet to sleep for two more hours?”

“By offering you some real good R&R. Ever since Montana, we've seen each other - what? Like, five times? And it's been over three months.”

“I have work to do.”

It came out gnarled from in between Bruce's tight set jaw. And prompted a derogative snort. “You're not crawling around on rooftops ever since you busted your ACL and escalated beef with the cops. Which is a godsend 'cause I don't have to wait for Alfred's call to scratch you off the asphalt.” As he spoke, Bruce wedged his phone between shoulder and ear to be able to fish for and check his other, work-related device.

“… and your point being what?”

“Point is, you need a vacation, sweetheart.”

The second Bruce did not reply, bristling at the alarming number of new items in his inbox, was the second Tony claimed as a victory.

“So that's settled then.”

The work phone flew and landed in between the many pillows as Bruce got up to let some fresh air in.

“I can't take the time off.”

Tony made an actual buzzer sound. “Wrong! Be a little more flexible here, snookums. If I can, you can, too. Your Foxy Fox keeps juggling those figures at WE, that creepy clown is behind bars for good, and that walking mustache you call Commissioner is supposed to chase you down the moment you don the cowl. Time. Out.” Lost to him, Bruce's normally composed facial features morphed into something like mild offense.

“I am totally flexible.”

A strong gust of cold air made Bruce's skin erupt in goosebumps as crystal-clear laughter echoed over the line.

“Oh, yeah, flexible. As long as everything is exactly the way you want it, you're _totally_ flexible, B.”

Tony's cheek made him slam the patio door shut again. Why did Gotham have to be so damn miserable cold all the time?

~~~

Six days later, a Cessna Citation X took off from a private Stark Industries' airfield near Miami, destination Mexico. The Grand Velas Los Cabos Hotel, home of the allegedly most expensive taco in the world, had piqued Tony's interest. Bruce, who was not that fond of tacos or Mexico, but of Tony, instructed Alfred to keep him updated on all things happening in Gotham and at Wayne Enterprises, and went along.

~~~

An hour into their uneventful flight, the jet's electronic systems announced there was a huge tropical storm on their pre-set course. As the clouds under and around the cabin grew darker and more menacing by the minute, Tony unbuckled and went to the front. At first, Bruce went back to reading his latest Forbes issue, but when lightning struck close to the wing, he put the magazine aside and glimpsed down the aisle.

Seeing Tony still had not returned, Bruce got up and followed him into the cockpit. There, two empty seats greeted him, and the sight of Tony Stark, who had shimmied into one of them, fiddling with some overhead switches. “Where are the pilots?” Tony clicked his tongue and adjusted a sleek-looking headset. "Jet's AI-controlled. I forewent a crew because I was aiming for some mile-high-club sexy times, okay?!"

Bruce slipped into the co-pilot's seat, buckled up, and inspected the high-tech cockpit. "I cannot believe your libido is at fault for our situation." Another flash of lightning went down right in front of the jet's nose, accompanied by a torrent of rain. "To be fair, the SI Automated Piloting System usually works without a hitch." Bruce reached for the seatbelt with gritted teeth. "Coming from the man in a flying trashcan."

Tony bent down to press some button close to his left thigh. "I'm not delving into that topic with you again, sweet vermin o' mine." With that, Tony reached for the sleek-looking controls of the pilot. Bruce strained to look out of the window to his right, unable to make out anything but dark clouds and rain whipping against the pane. “Speaking of delving in... where are we?”

He glimpsed at the readouts of the radar, only to find it out of order. Tony grunted. "Dunno. But the plane was monitored, so someone should start looking for us." Another massive bolt of lightning hit the nose of the jet. Both billionaires squinted at the sudden increase in luminance before the cabin plunged into darkness again. Bruce leaned forward to tap against some instruments that faded from green to gray.

"Looks like that might take a while."

As if on cue, the Cessna surged as another turbulence caught it. Tony held on tight onto the controls.

“Can you fly a jet on manual?”

Wayne reached out to flip a few switches and grabbed his set of controls.

“Fly? Yes. Crash-land? No.”

Tony left the controls to him in favor of trying to salvage what little working electronics were left. “Gotta make sure we don't crash then." Bruce grimaced as he felt the jet buck and shudder under the influence of the raging storm. “I don't know whether to find your optimism aggravating or appealing.” A flash of lightning illuminated Tony's face as he tilted his head towards Bruce with an exaggerated wiggle of eyebrows.

“Can we settle for sexy and suave?”

The fuel warning system gave a shrill beep and flashed 'FUEL LOW' at them. Bruce glimpsed up at the overhead panel to his right. “We've just lost engine two.” In an instant, Tony sobered up again. “Not what I wanna hear.” A loud, steady beep cut through the cockpit. Tony winced and wiped the back of a hand over his temple. “And that's not really better.” Bruce was still gripping the co-pilot's controls and tried to evoke a response.

“We're losing altitude fast.”

Nothing followed. Bruce cast his partner a glance. Tony's jaw was locked and his brows furrowed as he yanked at the jet's throttle.

“I'll fix this, babe, okay? Just don't disappear on me here.”

He cast him a tight grin. Bruce's grin was equally sparse.

“Not planning to.”

When the altimeter had reached 300 feet, Tony reached over the control middle panel to grab Bruce's hand in his. His boyfriend took it, gave a strong squeeze, and then urged him to let go to get both arms back inside the seat's shoulder harnesses and lock them. While the jet also had inertial reels that kept the pilots from slamming forward at an impact, it was still going to be a rough landing. They shared a final look.

"Brace yourself as good as possible."

Then there was a heavy thunk, and nothing but darkness for a while.

~~~  
  


WEEK ONE, Day One

Bruce's head appeared from under a bunch of sodden emergency blankets. After laying eyes on his equally awake boyfriend, his face darkened.  
  
“Remember when I said no more vacations with you?”  
  
Tony fought with the twisted latch of his seat belt and briefly glimpsed up.

“No. Yes. Vaguely.”

“I MEANT IT!”

Ire fueled Bruce's actions, and he tore from the confines of the tilted Cessna seats, finding himself uninjured apart from an all-over soreness. Tony had decided to try a wiggle strategy to free himself. “Pshh. What I hear when I’m being yelled at is you caring loudly at me.” With a grunt, Bruce reached over and yanked at the seat belt. It came off with a ripping sound. “Thank you.” Tony's Cheshire grin was met with a foul scowl.

Outside, the sound of waves lapping at the hull could be heard through the wreckage. Tony probed his body functions, saw Bruce moving about without problems, checked his ARC for any dents or cracks in the glass, and looked relieved. “At least no concussions or broken extremities. And there's an island, neat. We just get the Cessna's radar system back to work and will be outta here the day after tomorrow. At the latest.”

Bruce took in the scenery outside the cracked front shield, saw the sea washing up on a sandy shore, and exhaled. “At the risk of repeating myself: I don't know if I should find your optimism tragic or hilarious.” With that, he carefully made his way into the back of the jet, looking for anything remotely akin to his carry-on luggage. About to show him just how optimistic he was, Tony pushed ahead of him, headed for the exit.

"The jet's designed not to drown close to 48 hours post-crash, but still. This is the best outcome we could have aimed for."

With that, Tony kicked at the damaged door until it flew from its hinges. When he proceeded to cross the distance towards the shore with a casual jump, he miscalculated the momentum that tipped the jet even further south. It caused him to lose his balance and tumble headfirst into the crystal-clear water. Behind him, Bruce gave a small curse and held onto the doorway to not follow his lead and remain upright.

Quick to regain his balance, he smirked at the sodden picture of his lover below.

“The eagle has landed. Or should I say: One small step for a man...?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Tony squinted along the idyllic shoreline with its clear white sand. “Some picturesque shit.” He craned his neck to look at his companion. “Maybe it's inhabited after all? A small, hole-in-the-wall luxury spa retreat?” Not bothering to grace him with an answer, Bruce did a nimble jump over his crouched position and waded towards the green row of vegetation in the distance.

“HEY! WAIT!"

Wincing at the squishy feel inside his designer sneakers, Tony followed suit. Bruce did not even bother to turn around. “Move it. We have to build some shelter before night falls.” Cracking his neck, Tony harrumphed. “It's broad daylight.” That time, Bruce did turn around, but his gaze merely grazed Tony; focussing on the askew remains of the jet instead. “And we still need to salvage what's left of our luggage.”

Tony finger-combed his wet hair back with a snort.

“I'll ask the next Galapagos tortoise floating past if she's seen your monogrammed Vuitton case.”

“Screw you-”

Grumbling along, Bruce cast searching eyes out across the even surface of the water.

“- and it's Armani.”


End file.
